


All the Lovely Things

by Elsie_Snuffin



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Episode: s13e24 Family First, F/M, I'm Sorry, One Shot, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsie_Snuffin/pseuds/Elsie_Snuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Tony finds out about Ziva. Takes place during Family First (after McGee and Abby go to his apartment and before he learns about Tali), so general spoilers. Tiva oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Lovely Things

Nothing prepares you for what happens immediately after you find out the love of your life is dead. At first, there's nothing. No feeling, no thoughts other than  _ dead dead dead _ echoing through your whole empty body. Time ceases to exist. The world is suddenly in black and white, like The Wizard of Oz but in reverse. 

The world as you knew it before has been sucked into a black hole and in its place is a vast, endless nothing. 

But just as you get used to this nothingness, the black hole reverses and spits it all back out at you at warp speed. And it comes so fast, so unexpectedly, that all you can do is hold on for dear life and try to keep it from crushing you.

You're not sure how you made it back into the office. Maybe Abby and McGee gave you a ride. Maybe you drove in on your own, which is a little alarming because you just don't  _ remember _ , but then you remember that she's dead, and everything seems to focus just a little too sharply. 

The bullpen is dark like it usually is at this time of night. At least, it's dark out, so you assume it is night. Time has lost all meaning to you. It could be 9:00 pm or 3:00 am. But what does it matter? 

Nobody else is there. On your way to your desk, you eye the seat that used to be hers. Suddenly you are surrounded by memories. Moments upon moments. A touch, a look, a smile, a tear. So many looks. So many words exchanged, but not any that really mattered. Not until it was too late. Part of you is glad you told her the important things eventually, but the other part knows you should have said it all and more much earlier.

Then Gibbs is there and you don't know how it starts but suddenly you're yelling and hitting your palms on your desk and Senior is somehow there and asking you to come back home and  _ I can't I can't I can't.  _

Just like you don't know how you got to the office, you're not sure how you get back home. Senior drove your car, probably. You sit on your couch, stare at nothing, and think of nothing. This feels wrong. Where is the rush of memories, of secret moments about which only you and her know? 

The couch shifts and you look over to see Senior sitting next to you. It occurs to you that your father lost the love of his life, too. Your mother. If anyone understands, it's him. He doesn't say anything because he knows that there's nothing anyone can say. All he does is put his hand on your shoulder. A gesture of comfort. If you could feel anything, you would be grateful. 

After an indefinite amount of time, he finally speaks. “Try to get some sleep, son,” he says. You look at him, brow furrowed. Sleep sounds like such a foreign concept but you nod to appease him, and you feel yourself get to your feet and head to your bedroom. 

The bag you had just finished packing when McGee and Abby came in with the news is still on your bed. You put it to the ground and lay down on the bed. She slept in this bed a few times. You curl up on your side and try to pretend that she's there with you, but of course she is not and it feels foreign anyway. 

All the anger you felt in the bullpen has dissipated. You feel depleted of any energy, and you just lie there, watching shadows flicker across the wall.

**

A sharp knock startles you. You have no idea what time it is or who it might be. What other bad news could you possibly receive tonight? Another knock, and you wait a beat to see if your father will get the door. When you don't hear anything, you get up and shuffle down the hall and to the door, flicking on a lamp on your way. You look through the peephole and then take a step back, rubbing your eyes. It must be wishful thinking. 

But you open the door, not daring to breathe. And there she is. Dark curls tumbling over her shoulders in a wild cascade, eyes tired and soft, a hint of a smile on her lips. “You look like you have seen a ghost, Tony.” Her voice is amused, accent just the way you remember it. 

It takes you a minute to register that your lungs are screaming for air and you greedily suck in oxygen before responding. “Well, yeah. I think I'm looking at one.” A shaky laugh.

She steps into your apartment, closes the door behind her, walks right up to you. Then she reaches out and pinches your arm. “Ow!” you yelp. “We haven't seen each other in three years and you  _ pinch _ me?” 

She smirks. “Clearly, I am not a ghost,” she declares. Then she leans in and hugs you, tightly, her cheek pressed against yours. The smell of her hair overwhelms you and you close your eyes, arms tight around her. All too quickly, she lets go and steps back to take a seat on your couch. “We do have quite a bit to catch up on, yes?”

It is your turn to smirk. “Yeah, you could say that,” you reply as you take a seat next to her. “Starting with why Vance got a call from Mossad, saying that you are dead.”

“It was part of the plan. We have known for a few weeks that Trent Kort would be after me for my father’s papers. The bombing of my father's farmhouse was Mossad’s doing. I was not there - I have not lived there in two years. Then Orli Elbaz notified Vance and the heads of the CIA and FBI that I had died, in case Kort was listening. That gave me cover to fly out of Israel and come here.”

You blink, processing all the information. All you can think to say is, “You knew Kort was after you?”

“Yes,” she replies. “I knew I would be a target of any of my father's many enemies. I went through his files and compiled a list of those who might come after me based on the knowledge he had that I now possess. I shared the list with Orli and she said she would keep me informed.”

This all makes so much sense. Too much sense, really. “Huh,” is all you can muster in response. 

“I am sorry that we had to lie to you about my death. I hope it did not disrupt things too much.”

At this, all you can do is look at her like she is a crazy person. “ _ Disrupt  _ my day? Ziva, I thought you were  _ dead _ . Dead as a doornail dead. Never coming back dead. You did way more than disrupt my day.”

“Did you just reference a book?” is her only reply and you can only glare at her in response. 

“Seriously, Ziva. Did you think I would just shrug it off, like ‘oh too bad’?” you ask incredulously. 

She looks down, suddenly uncertain. “I do not know,” she admits. “It has been a long time since we were last in contact.”

You are struck with the sudden need to clue her in on a few things. “Yeah, it has. Things have changed around here. But some things never change.” Lift her chin up with your hand gently so you can look her straight in the eye as you say this.

She still looks doubtful. “Everything changes, Tony.”

Shake your head. “No. Not everything. ‘What is essential is invisible to the eye,’ right?” The quote earns you a soft smile, and you continue on, emboldened. “Everything I said before I left Israel still apply.”

Silence follows your confession. Search her eyes for a hint of what she is thinking. You think she looks relieved, and it occurs to you that she likely thought you had moved on, the way you thought the same about her. Maybe she has moved on. But gazing into her eyes, you doubt it. You move your hand from her chin to cup the side of her face. Her eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up to yours. And then you kiss her gently. In that instant, years of longing and hours of sorrow are released and you feel so light that you might defy gravity and start floating.

After a long, lingering moment, you break the kiss to say, “Plus, you were part of our team for eight years. Of course we were all going to be broken up by your death.”

She smiles at you, that lovely shy smile you thought you’d never see again. At the rush of emotions, you jump up, determined not to cry since she is here and alive. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? I could order some food,” you ask, heading for the kitchen.

“No, thank you. I think I would just like to go to sleep. It has been a long few days,” she replies. 

You turn around and go back to the living room, where she has kicked off her shoes and is stretched out on the couch. “Oh no no, you take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” She stands up and stretches, and you cannot keep your eyes off the inch of skin that she bares in the process. She catches you looking and smiles knowingly, then says goodnight and heads into your bedroom.

Watch her go, and marvel at this twist of fate. Maybe the stars are finally aligning. You have no idea how long she plans to stay, but you know there’s no way you will let go of her again. You’ll quit NCIS and follow her back to Israel if that’s where she plans to go next. If she wants to scale Everest next, you’ll do that, too. You won’t waste this second chance. This time, you’ll appreciate how everything is better with her in your life. You’ve lived life without her and well, it just isn’t for you. 

“Tony?” she calls out from the bedroom.

“Sweetcheeks?” you reply, the old nickname slipping out. You get up and go to the bedroom, poke your head through the doorway.

She is sitting on the side of the bed in the dark room. “I feel ridiculous, taking your bed,” she explains. “The least I can do is share it with you.”

You look at her skeptically. “It’s a twin,” you say by way of explanation.

She shrugs. “So? We will get cozy.”

Well. If she doesn’t mind, you certainly don’t. And didn’t you just tell yourself that you won’t waste this chance? You shoot a smile at her as you step over to other side of the bed. She lies down on her side, above the covers, and you follow suit. Her hair is in your face as you slide your arm under hers to hold her closely to you, but you don’t care.

“Tony?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“It is nice to see you again.”

You smile into her hair as you reply, “You, too.”

And then she says, “I missed you.”

“You have no idea, Sweetcheeks.” She snuggles in closer and you sigh. All you can smell is her shampoo and you think,  _ this. This is what I’ve been missing all this time. _

You don’t even care when she starts snoring five minutes later.

***

Sunlight streaming through your window wakes you up, forces you to open your eyes. She’s not next to you and something just doesn’t seem right. Think back to the previous night. The outburst in the bullpen, her at your door, falling asleep enveloped by the scent of her hair. There is noise in the kitchen and you figure she is starting the coffee. She has always been early to wake.

A glance at your cell phone tells you that it is almost 10:00 am and you missed a call from work. The team must be wondering where you are, but you figure you have a pretty good reason for being late. You wonder if you can convince her to come with you to the office partly because you know the team would love to see her, but also because you don’t want to let her out of your sight. As if she might disappear at any moment.. 

With a sigh, you force yourself to get up. Your body feels like it has aged 30 years, and you entertain the idea of staying in bed with her all day, doing nothing but tasting her lips and exchanging stories of what you’ve both been up to for the last few years. But Trent Kort is still on the loose, so you know calling in sick is not an option.

You walk into the kitchen and realize the person making noises isn’t her. It’s your father, and it looks like he is making breakfast. You frown to yourself as you try to figure out where he was last night if he didn’t sleep on the couch. Maybe he left and then came back in this morning. “Hey Dad,” you greet him. 

In the living room, her shoes aren’t where she had left them last night. “Ziva go out for something?” you ask.

He gives you a puzzled look. “What?”

“Ziva. She showed up here last night, alive. It’s a kind of crazy story, actually, but the death was just to throw Kort off her trail. She must have slipped out this morning before you got here.”

The look he gives you is curious. It is equal parts concerned, confused, and unbearably sad. “Son,” he says gently. “I was here all night on the couch. Ziva never showed up.”

You blink at him, uncomprehending. That can’t be right. It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. It felt so  _ real _ . The scent of her shampoo is still tickling your nose. “No,” you say. “But…”

He smiles in a way you’ve never seen before. Gentle, sad, understanding. “The dreams are a gift, Junior. I still dream about your mother sometimes. After all these years, I remember the smallest details about her.”

Is that all you have left of her? A scant few photos, a gold Star of David necklace, and dreams? That can’t be all. She is such a force, full of energy, lighting up every room she’s in. You can’t even think about her in past tense yet. The idea that you’ll only see her in dreams from now on is too much and not even close to enough. 

So you do what you do best. You change the subject. “I better get to the office. I’ve already missed a call,” you say as you walk back to your bedroom, leaving your father standing in the kitchen, still giving you that look. 

Swallow back the overwhelming wave of sadness that threatens to break over you, carry you away. Focus. Work. Find Trent Kort and blast the sonofabitch to oblivion. The voicemail is from the Director, requesting your presence in his office as soon as you get in. You can do that. Work is all you have left now. That sense of belonging that you mentioned to Gibbs months ago, you know now that it has always been with  _ her _ , and if she is gone, then you’ll always be a nomad, never belonging anywhere but in that old farmhouse on Tel Aviv’s outskirts where your heart is buried.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the sadness, folks. I told myself that I had written my one "Ziva is dead" story (Five Gifts She Gave Him...), but I wanted to explore Tony's emotions especially after the "all hands on deck" scene. And I know, I know, the whole "it was just a dream" thing is cliche, but I couldn't help it. This thing basically wrote itself. Don't hate me.
> 
> And as always, please comment.


End file.
